Memoirs of a Fallen Man
by SashaDaae
Summary: They say that Lord Voldemort, my Tom, had no comprehension of what love was...what a fool they all are. Several short scenes based on the complex relationship between Lucius Malfoy and his Master, his Lord, his Lover- Voldemort. Slash LM/V, in progress.
1. Plenty

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not the songs, none of the characters, no allusions or quotes from other books.

This will just be a short series of vignettes, I'm thinking perhaps 10 chapters tops? Anywho, I hope you all enjoy it!

I love reviews, but not flames!

Lyric is "Plenty" by Sarah McLachlan

__

_I would not let myself believe_

_that you might stray_

_and I would stand by you_

_no matter what they'd say, I would have thought I'd be with you_

_until my dying day_

It could be worse.

I should be glad Adora will be at Easter, glad that this will be the only time of the year where the arguing may cease (at least for an evening) and my father will be content.

Inevitably, he'll end up drunk and yelling hexes at me while Adora hides in her bedroom sending owls to her friends. Father will bang on her door and demand he be allowed entrance, to know who it is she's keeping contact with (by this time too intoxicated to use the wand in his hand) and she'll cry and tell him it's no one, really, no Muggles, no Mudbloods.

Indeed, it could be much worse. How, I am not quite sure.

No, I am sure. I could be going home to a family like Severus'.

The train back to the Platform is always mundane. Normally there would be others with me in my compartment- Severus included- but this seems to be a rather different Easter break. I'll be leaving Hogwarts next year, but that time seems to be stretching out in front of me. It's put me in a poor mood for some reason, and I've been left brooding alone ever since the train took off.

I can't read. I've been given a load of homework for the break (being a prefect and a Malfoy, I'm _expected _to take such higher classes) and thought that Arithmancy may perhaps take my mind off things, but it appears that idea was futile.

Not that it matters, seeing as the train has slowed to a stop and students are already starting to gush out the red sides of the Express. I sigh and pick up my bags, lazily stashing everything in together at once, and disembark.

I turn about a bit, classmates streaming past me and hitting me in the shoulder. I give them a crooked smile (often mistake for arrogance, I'm afraid) and seek out my father. I can't Apparate quite yet, you see, although Father believes the law should be changed to earlier than seventeen. Not that he knows anything.

Of course he's not here. He never is on time. Everything is always more important- meetings with the Minister, speaking with the heads at Gringotts, "distracted" and grabbing tea and cauldron cakes with a friend. And Adora is Adora- she is too wrapped up in stashing money under her bed so she can leave for..oh, I don't know where. She's my greatest confidante and I am hers, but even she cannot tell me the details of where she wants to run off to.

By now, the train station has largely filtered out and I'm left, standing like an imbecile with my two bags next to me. With a hefty sigh I sit down on the ground and lean my head against the black dragon leather. I've a headache today. Being a stupid prefect isn't all it's cracked up to be, and with the familial and educational, not to mention the damned social, pressures on me- well, let's say I'm partly thankful my Father isn't here.

Scuffling. Like shoes, someone's dragging their feet…I snap my head up and glance around me. Just a moment ago I was alone!

"No need to worry, I've no reason to harm you." Says a bemused voice. I turn around and stand up, reaching for the wand in my pocket. The man I'm facing laughs and turns his palms up in a sort of surrender.

He has dark hair, smooth as- well, as glass. He's very pale, a waxy sort of pale, yet not in a sickly way. Taller than me too- he could easily overpower me if he wanted, yet that doesn't seem to be the case.

"What is your name?"

"Lucius Malfoy," I respond wearily, my wand out and pointing at him. "Don't do anything you'll regret, I-"

He laughs again. "Haven't we discussed this? I have no reason to hurt you." He comes closer, one of his hands adjusting the collar of his suit. "Rather stuffy for such dress, don't you think?" he asks conversationally. I realize that he's quite a bit older than me, perhaps as old as my father.

"Do you know who I am?" he asks curiously. I shake my head- why would I? He's a complete stranger, even I, as a Malfoy, do not know every single individual in Wizarding London.

Here he gives an aggravated sigh. "Well then, you'll have to trust me, whether or not you know my name." His arm is held out, bent at the elbow, while grabbing my other bag with his free hand. When he sees I haven't taken his arm, he becomes impatient. "Don't be such a child, I can take you home."

__

Lord Voldemort!

I've been accompanied home by Lord Voldemort, who Apparated us _inside my home_, then proceeded to have afternoon tea with my Father!

I'll admit I'm astonished. I had no idea, ignorant as I am, that my Father holds relations with Lord Voldemort. Of course I know his sentiments on Muggles and their ilk, and of course he's right, but….

I peek around the corner, just as I used to as a little boy, and watch them. This Lord Voldemort is laughing, leg crossed easily over his knee. His wand flicks through the air and creates something I can't see, but for some odd reason I'm enthralled.

Adora comes up behind me and sighs angrily, grabbing me by the collar and dragging me into the kitchen. Our house-elves are working like mad for dinner, and they move quickly out of her way as she throws me against one of the cabinets.

"Damn it, Adora, what are you trying to do?" I snap.

"You're an idiot!" she hisses, unnerved by my pain. I rub the back of my head and bite my lip, glaring at her all the while. "What were you thinking, you should have known that.." She's pacing back and forth, tapping her lower lip with a slim finger. "I guess you wouldn't, seeing as Abraxas so loves brainwashing you."

"_Father _doesn't brainwash me!" I respond angrily. Adora shakes her head, her blonde hair hanging like ropes around her face.

"Just be more careful, would you? I don't want to see my baby brother associating with such ilk, no matter what that dirty old man forces you to believe." Adora crosses her arms and leans against one of the long tables, where Dory is preparing some meat or another. A little bit of meat splashes up on her clothes, yet she hardly cares. "You're a good boy, Lucius. But I fear for you. If I could, I'd take you along, you know that?" I shake my head furiously and turn away from her.

I kick a house-elf out of my way to spite her as I leave the kitchen. She's gone and angered me now, why does she always do this to me? She has no right to question my actions, it's none of her business and-

"Lucius, I daresay you'll have to be careful and watch where you're going." I've run into him, literally, and he's looking down at me with an eery twist of a grin on his face. _Voldemort _(how strange it is to think of him as such) places a warm hand on my shoulder and watches me curiously. "You have the most startling eyes."

And with that, he's gone. I'm left gaping, alone, in the hallway, without a notion in my head of what to think or to believe.


	2. Witness

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not the songs, none of the characters, no allusions or quotes from other books. Lyric is "Witness" by Sarah McLachlan.

____

_Will we burn in heaven_

_Like we do down here_

_Will the change come _

_While we're waiting_

_____

"Lucius, stay." It's a command, and certainly not a suggestion. The other Death Eaters eye me suspiciously and whisper behind their hands as they depart in various forms. I'm the youngest here, not even of legal Wizarding age, and I feel horribly out of place. Even though I am a Malfoy, I receive no respect- I'm at the bottom of their chain and deserve no acknowledgement at all.

My.._welcoming_, if that is what it can be called, was without a doubt one of the most painful events of my life. For a week I awoke in the middle of the night with chills, a phantom feeling of the multiple hexes and curses hitting my body. I specifically remember laying on my stomach, and for a moment as I rolled around in agony my eyes locked with the Dark Lord's, his lips neither giving way to a smile nor a frown, not a smirk, his eyes were knit together with a strange sort of contemplation. Even now, it is an event that I hate to recall- the Dark Mark is not the only wound on my skin.

Adora was suspicious of me. She would walk into my room and place a cold towel on my forehead. There was always some whiskey in her hand to try and calm me, but I was sure it was laced with Veritaserum or something of the sort- I couldn't take my chances. It hurt her, and the two of us were growing distant. But what could I do? If I told her, she'd be furious with me, but if I turned a blind eye towards her..it put me in Father's good favor for once

_You have the most startling eyes…_

What a strange twist of events, to think that the man I randomly meet at the Platform should be Lord Voldemort himself. A part of me longs to question him, but it's too early. This is only my second meeting with the other Death Eaters and have no place in being so forward. I'm much more fearful of the pain the question will bring me than whatever answer he can give me.

When the last follower leaves, the two of us are left alone in the dimly lit room. He walks in a circle around me. "You are feeling well, I hope?" he asks quietly. I nod. "Good, I was afraid we may have frightened you away with our little ceremony."

"N-not at all, m-my Lord."

"You're nervous, why are you nervous? There is no reason for you to be afraid of this dark magic, Lucius. It will help you gain power." He kneels before me and places a spiderlike finger under my chin and looks me square in the eyes. I should turn away out of reverence, but I can't. "You dislike your father, the burdens he places on you. I can help you find a way out of the life you do not want, Lucius, don't you see that?"

My throat goes dry. "How do you know all this, My Lord?"

He smirks and rises back up on his haunches, laying a pale hand reassuringly on my shoulder. "Let's just call it intuition, Lucius. Do not be afraid to return to us. I can help you more than anyone else can." It's a tantalizing offer, and he has been kind to me, particularly after my acceptance as a Death Eater. "My other followers don't like you," he continues, revealing exactly what I dreaded, "but I see so much in you. You are faithful and honest, just as any decent Pure-Blood should be. You're intelligent- I could use some brains on my side, don't you think?"

I take that this is meant to be a joke, so I let out a hesitant laugh that sounds more like a dying dog.

"And before you leave.." his voice trails off, and he is uncomfortably close to me. My new Master runs a sharp nail over my bottom lip; a whimper rises from my throat and he abruptly pulls his hand away, leaving a large cut on my lip. I probably look like an imbecile, standing here with blood running down my chin. Something has been released into the air around us- not tension, but a new feeling, frightening and thrilling me all at once. And I realize, as he takes my arm and accompanies me home, I cannot wait to see my Master once more, if only I may be alone with him.


	3. Fumbling Towards Ecstacy

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not the songs, none of the characters, no allusions or quotes from other books. Lyric by Sarah McLachlan, as always. Beginning reference is drawn from "Wuthering Heights" by Ms. Emily Bronte.

____

_Companion to our demons_

_they will dance, and we will play_

_With chairs, candles, and cloth_

_making darkness in the day_

_____

"'If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it.'" I intoned, my leg crossed lazily over the other. I was bored and all too warm, despite the heavy rain outside, so I had resorted to books while my Master visited the home- for reasons he won't explain. Currently he is flicking through the thousands of books here in the room, impatiently shoving them back to their places with his wand- I cannot help but watch out of the corner of my eye.

"Why, Lucius, do you read such silly books? Written by a Muggle, was it not? Why waste your time?" he sneers. "They know nothing about true authorship, of the delight of quill on parchment. Any _decent_ Pureblood could tell you this, but it seems you're faltering."

"It intrigues me, my Lord." I respond, placing my thumb over the page as I close it warily.

"Many things intrigue you, yet you have not learned self-restraint." He's now watching me closely, wand lowered to his side, then takes the few steps between us and is hovering over me. "Who is this tramp you plan on marrying?"

It's an intensely direct question and not what I was suspecting. There is betrayal in his voice. Betrayal, and a frightening anger that will only lead to something awful. "Narcissa Black," I whisper, setting the little book down beside me. "Understand, my Lord, it is of my Father's choosing, that it will not inhibit my faithfulness to _you_.."

"Will it?" His voice has turned cold and uncaring- I shudder at his growing rage and, on impulse, fall to my knees, pressing my lips against the hem of his robe. I know I shouldn't, too often a groveling Death Eater has done the same and faced punishment…

"Lucius." The voice is a whisper and seems to come not from him, but from the corners of the room, full of sadness and old age. For a man around my father's years, he is young, but there is a heaviness in his voice when he speaks. The Dark Lord pulls his robe away from me, none too gently, and lifts me so that we are face-to face.

"Understand, my Lord, I have true no wish to marry her." I murmur, trying to contain my pain. _Don't let him see you weak_… "I only just met her on a few occasions."

"Of course you don't." The look that he first gazed upon me with has returned to his eyes, his mouth turned down slightly at the edges with discontent. "You are my most trusted, my most faithful, Lucius. I can save you."

My eyes narrow with suspicion. "My Lord-"

"Do not protest." He presses a finger to my mouth. I feel uncomfortable- moments before he was seething, what will he do to me now? His moods are notorious for their sudden changes.

He laughs in response to my thoughts. "You are in no danger, be assured of that!" He takes a step back, but his gaze never wavers. "Tell me, how far will a Malfoy go for the Dark Lord?"

"As far as he wishes for a Malfoy to go." I respond quickly, blinking away the wetness in my eyes. My heart is racing in my chest, and as cliche as the thought is, he is certainly able to hear it.

"I believe you, despite the rather rushed response." He drawls, pointing his wand at the door and locking it. "But there must be more than that. You're an interesting creature, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy." I feel a hotness in my face, but I dare not turn away from him. "Anyone who does not agree with that is a fool, and this Narcissa should be thankful to have you."

I am stuck standing here, my mouth agape. The little book floats into his hands and he turns to a random page. "'I believe--I know that ghosts have wandered on earth. Be with me always--take any form--drive me mad!'" His head turns slightly. "What do those words mean to you?"

I sneer. "Pitiful words of a weak man, my Lord." He laughs once more, cruelly, and I feel myself soften slightly. "Yet he is an admirable character…for a Muggle." I add this last note quickly, as if it is needed to fill a void, to assure him that I am not growing _weak_.

"I'm jealous of Heathcliff, Lucius. Even if he is a Muggle," he agrees. "Love is nonsensical and breeds nothing but resentment and hate and lies. But passion is a completely different thing, my friend. Do you know the difference? Or must that be taught?"

And suddenly, I understand him, the meanings behind his words. I feel faint and I clutch my head from the sudden pain. White spots dance before my eyes before I realize what he's done to me, and he's laughing, laughing.

__

I wake up with his robe covering my legs, the ghost of his breath lingering over me. I shudder, holding the bile down for now as I rise slowly, clinging to the chair's arm for support. He's gone to God knows where, but his presence is still here.

My lip quivers. I can't marry this Narcissa, whom I have met twice. I need Tom.

It's frightening to think I have a name, I muse as I settle slowly into the chair. The way he looked at me the first time we met…time and time again I am propelled backwards to that day and why he wanted me. I shiver and trace my hand over my mouth, ill at ease.

He's been kind to me, more so than other new Death Eaters, but I figured it was due to the fact that I am a Malfoy. That was the only explanation reasonable! I was young and naïve when I came to that conclusion, but there must be more.

One of the Death Eaters whose name escapes me once confessed, in a moment of weakness, that Tom- the Dark Lord- has no care for_ feelings_ or for _friends_. Was he right? The Dark Lord never had care for the few women in our circle, particularly a new inductee- Bellatrix, Narcissa's sister, as it happens- who might as well throw themselves at him with blind passion.

No, he's always sneered at them. But the strange looks he throws my way never ceased…

I lean over and, with no where else to go, am sick all over the floor, on the fine carpet.


	4. Answer

______

_If it takes my whole life_

_I won't break, I won't bend_

_It will all be worth it_

_Worth it in the end_

_____

It is morning.

Or, perhaps dawn. Not that it truly matters- either way, it signals the fact that I must leave soon, leave and bid Tom goodbye and greet my new son.

Foreign words on my tongue- _Tom_ and _son_. There's something frightening about using the man whom I revere as the Dark Lord in meetings by his birth name in the halls of my home, in one of our many rooms full of family heirlooms…the name has passed my lips so many times over the years, but I am never fully comfortable with the three-letter word. Perhaps it is because I can think of him as no one other than the Dark Lord- Lord _Voldemort. _My Master, my Leader.

In effect, the very man who controls my life. But Tom humanizes him somewhat, turns him into something he isn't. I don't blame him for shedding the name.

I am completely still on my bed, staring at the sunlight trying to edge its way into the room. Tom isn't beside me, as he had been previously- probably roaming through the adjacent room silently, like a ghost, picking at our ancient family's history or something of the like. He's entranced by our family treasures, the many poisons and magical weaponry I keep stowed away. More than once have the two of us toured this little room, speaking of the powers these items can bring through their deadly use.

But I'm musing again. I rub my face with my hands and blink, trying to squint through the offending light. I cannot hear him, cannot see him, but I can feel him- even if he is not in the very room I am at the moment.

When I told him of my son's birth, he had only smirked and made a snide comment that I can't even recall. Not that it matters- such little details have been escaping my mind for years, and whatever he said has no relation to anything of true importance. What matters is what he told me last night as he placed a small black journal into my hands.

_Guard it with your life, Lucius. Never let those curious eyes of yours betray yourself._

I should go to St. Mungo's and see Narcissa, but instead I swing my legs stiffly over the bed and stare at the wall as if it's the most alluring thing in the world at present. I weigh my options carefully in my head. Tom is still here and it would not be prudent to simply leave. Nor would it be decent to not even bother to show up, which will only leave dear Bellatrix wondering what happened to the "darling Death Eater". Stupid woman enjoys making a mockery of me, even if I am married to her sister...

"Lucius, you should have told me what a curious little book this was, otherwise I may have picked it up sooner!"

He's sneering with disgust as the tattered Bronte book is hurled onto the bed. Tom must have been reading it, for I can clearly see several pages folded down, marking pages I myself never revisited. I can only sigh, too exhausted to respond. "The amount of filth in your library is astonishing, my friend. Time for a little bit of cleaning, I should think."

"It wastes time, Tom." I respond wearily, standing up finally and moving to take my walking stick. "They are books, nothing of true worth in our world. Do you really expect-"

"Yes, I do consider it rather absurd, considering the letter you wrote to Dumbledore concerning the matter of those fairy tales*", he sneers. "The things I do, Lucius…the things I put up with. If you were anyone else, you'd be shunned by now, you know that?"

I could very well tell him he's an absolute hypocrite, that he himself has secrets regarding his own past- that he's not the Pureblood he says he is, but that will do nothing. I take the old, abused book and stuff it into one of the bureaus by the bed- hidden for now. It will collect dust until I decide to crack it open once more.

"My Lord, I'm afraid I should ready myself to leave for St. Mungo's," I say coolly, pulling on a clean shirt. "Narcissa will be expecting me, as will most of her family."

"Not at all, my friend. Although I am sure you can spare me but one more moment." He looks at me curiously- I have memorized this face, I see it so often. Along with a varieties of anger and undisguised greed, of course. "For your insolence. You can't expect a Master to let his Follower go free after doing wrong, now, can you?"

I relent. He is exactly what he says he is- my Master, and I am in no position to deny his wants.

Sometimes, in the back of my head, a voice whispers that I should deny him.

____

Holding my son, I am struck by how quickly time has passed from the time I married to his birth, from the time I met Tom to this very morning. Narcissa is watching me closely, spitefully. There's no hint of happiness at her new motherhood, my sudden fatherhood.

Or maybe time has gone by slower that my mind is playing such tricks on me. I've gone soft and I'm hardly keeping track of time anymore- being a Death Eater while simultaneously playing Good Aristocrat in public takes its toll. And I can hardly carry on a _relationship_ with the Dark Lord, it's unheard of. Even this is hidden away, buried from sight just as my little book is. Just as that haunting journal is. I have become stuck in an unrelenting circle of lies.

So how in the hell do I care for a child? Indeed, my father was no great example, and I can hardly ask anyone else for advice. I am a Malfoy, I should know!

He feels so heavy in my arms. _Draco_. Such a big name for a small being, just as my own is. It carries so much weight- too much for a child. "He'll carry the Malfoy line well," I hear myself say. It is the proper phrase, exactly what is expected. What is always expected.

I feel the Mark burn and give another long sigh. A sigh that joins the other ones so full of burdens and doubt, resentment and fear.

And…passion. Unrelenting passion.

___

*= here I am drawing from The Tales of Beetle the Bard, where, in a commentary, Albus Dumbledore revealed a letter written by Lucius to the Headmaster regarding the obscenity of one of the Bard's stories and how it depicts interbreeding with Muggles- and for that reason should be removed from the Hogwarts library.


	5. Black and White

I own nothing, not the lyrics, nor the characters, not even the references to _Wuthering Heights_! (see if you can spot them, heehee!)

___

_Everybody loves you when you're easy_

_Everybody hates when you're a bore_

_Everyone is waiting for your entrance so_

_Don't disappoint them_

___

"My Lord," I murmur reverently, bowing only slightly at the waist, hands set lightly on the fine chair in front of me. I am thankful for the mask that suppresses my emotions, the unrelenting excitement that comes with every meeting when I sit next to him. I cannot help but feel immensely prideful at the right-hand seat I retain, looking down upon the Death Eaters who sneered upon me in my youth. _Look at me now!_ I gloat in my mind.

We are cool to each other at these meetings- nothing suspicious, and I am his favorite. I can afford to make mistakes. I am not afraid to speak in my haughty voice to him, the voice I use for commoners, which angers certain.._devoted_..individuals, when it merely draws a cruel laugh from his mouth.

Severus Snape sits to his left, his black hair framing the silver mask dully. He's unnervingly quiet tonight, and I'm sure it is due in part to the vital information he sent Tom earlier this morning. Aside from them I am the only one who knows- I am honored and feeling rather self-satisfied with this idea, that even his oldest followers are completely clueless.

In one fluid motion, as the Dark Lord sits, we point our slender wands to our masks, causing them to seemingly dissolve into air. He regards us all slowly, eyes cold and indifferent, calculating, before he opens his mouth to speak.

"It seems that the Order of the Phoenix has yet again meddled with my plans to attack the Lockwoods and their little resistance group in Southwark." I cannot help but snort- Artemas Lockwood and his group, hiding under the crest of a Peruvian Vipertooth, is unrelenting, and if the Order has their way then their influence will spread beyond London to all of Wizarding Europe in a matter of years!

"There are members in question, of course, that I focus my attention upon." Here he trails off and turns his eyes towards Bellatrix. "In question, Alice and Frank Longbottom." She cackles with delight and claps her hands. "Too many times," raising his voice over her mad laughter, "Have they defied me personally, and I cannot stand for that, can I?"

He glances at the three Lestranges. "And, if I am correct, they have deep ties to dear Artemas. Should this communication be, _cut down_, so to speak, perhaps we can weaken further resistance before moving on to our favorite Order."

Bellatrix shrieks once more, bouncing in her seat like a stupid girl, and I'm half tempted to cover my ears and slap her across the face. Tom, knowing my opinion of her, smirks and rests a hand lazily on my knee, beneath the table, out of sight. I quickly draw in a breath and stiffen my back.

"My Lord, regarding the Potters-" Severus' voice wavers. I look at my friend, concerned, but his face is a blank mask, as expressionless as the silver façade he wore moments ago.

"We will deal with them later." Tom responded quickly, lightly. "I have spoken with you already, Severus, on those matters. The time will come."

___

His face has changed in strange ways- not quite old, but twisted and melted so that his former handsomeness is interrupted by a hideousness that Dorian Gray's portrait should be jealous of. It's a frightening prospect- waking up to see such a horrible visage in the early moments of morning, but not quite as awful as the castigation I face from my dear wife.

Even stranger is how it is illuminated by soft candelight, making shadows appear and lines deepen. I dare not cringe or turn away from him- rather, I draw the memory of our first meeting, his distinguished face, his thin lips, his dark, keen eyes....

Crying?

"Your son," he says softly into my ear, "is quite bothersome at this time of night."

"Indeed, Tom." I gasp. His long fingers trail down my face, eyes curious, like a young child. Narcissa's footsteps are light as she trails to Draco's room, and we lay unmoving, as if she should burst into the room at any second (despite the charms placed on the door). All the while, he's looking at _me_, thinking of _me_!

"You're so interesting, Lucius. I am never bored with you, do you know that? I fear that is why you are my favorite." He chuckles, touching my hair gently, tucking it behind my ear.

"Until I open my mouth and speak about literature, of course." I pout, remembering the stuffed book in the bureau. He chuckles again.

"I've told you, I have no interest for Muggle scribbles. I'd rather you tell me about your trip to Wizarding Moscow, my friend, but we shall save that for later."

I pull away from his hands and stare at him, leaning on one elbow to support myself. "Tom, why did you choose me, that day at the train station? My father never spoke of you, nor the Death Eaters, there must have been some reason that you-"

His eyes narrow. "That's neither here nor there," he responds cruelly. "You are a Death Eater, that is all that matters, isn't it?"

"It never is, is it?" I snap. "You always avoid my questions, it is never enough, you never tell me what you spoke to my father about-"

"Calm yourself!" he hisses, clamping a hand over my mouth. It's astonishingly cold and I hold the urge to fight back. "For all your characteristics, you are quite selfish, aren't you? I know your thoughts," he adds, "towards the others. Don't think so highly of yourself simply because I allow you in my bed."

_Your bed? And pray tell, when did you come to owning my manor? _I long to respond- but that would be unwise.

"I have a duty to complete," he adds suddenly, "in a month's time. I expect you to take care of the matter pertaining to Lockwood that same night, understand? And _do not get caught_, Lucius. Sorry events will happen to you should anything bad happen, you know that? I can't save you all the time, my dear. Furthermore, Draco and Narcissa would be left without the head of house!"

He finally moves his hand away from my mouth. "Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves." I quip immediately, to spite him, to make him hate me. "And you are certainly no different, Tom." I spit on him and push him away, stumbling out of the bed.

I've barely made it to the door before my knees collapse, head slamming roughly against the door. I groan and hold my face in my hands, fire licking at my heels- but there is no fire, he's playing tricks again…and he's laughing that cruel laugh, that laugh that will haunt me until my final days.


	6. Fear

I own nothing, no Wuthering Heights references, no lyrics, no characters except for Artemas Lockwood and his buddies.

Longest chapter thus far! WOOOT! Comments appreciated, flames feed my fire =] or my stove, if I am in the mood for coffee.

______

_I have so much to lose here in this lonely place_

_Tangled up in our embrace_

_Theres nothing I'd like better than to fall_

_But I fear I have nothing to give_

____

I'm twisting the cane between my fingers anxiously, awaiting the signal. It should have came nearly an hour ago, but of course this never happened- otherwise we'd be long gone by now.

_And I'd be with Tom,_ I cannot help but think bitterly,_ rather than with these fools._

Avery, Mulciber, the Carrows, Dolohov and Goyle impatiently wait behind me, silver masks barely shielding their looks of disgust that I am the leader of this operation. They don't even try to conceal it- but it won't matter after tonight. After tonight, I'll have gained their respect, and won't have to kiss the hems of their robes just to earn their trust.

_Curious eyes..._

I blink wearily and stand, my knees cracking as I do so. We have been waiting too long. "Dolohov, how are the skies?"

"Clear," he grumbles. "Clear as the damn morning, and it's nearly ten. Fuck it, Malfoy, why don't we just leave?"

"No!" I shout, clenching the cane and facing him. "You_ idiot_, we must wait for the signal, or do you want this whole operation to go straight to Hell?"

Dolohov sneers at me, baring his teeth rather like a hound. "We've waited long enough, _Lucius." _The Carrows whisper to each other, both of them eyeing me. I shoot them a look before I pull out my wand and prepare to respond to Dolohov.

I am interrupted, however, by the fireplace- it has alighted itself with a startling green flame. A voice is screaming- Dolohov collapses, clutching his face and moaning, the Carrows immobile on the floor. Eyes wide, I throw the cane carelessly on the floor and flatten against a wall, hiding myself best I can- I've no idea what's going on, this isn't right, _this was not the plan of action!_

But it's the Dark Lord, and he's grabbed my wrist so harshly there will be bruises tomorrow, throwing me across the room. I cry out, feeling a sickening crack in my shoulder as I hit the wall. I suck in a breath quickly, rolling on to my stomach, hair shielding my eyes from his fury.

"Why in the hell are you still here?" he roars, aiming his wand at me. My hands scramble on the carpet, trying to move away, but that is futile, useless, but I need to get away- don't let him know he's hurt you, just play along and you will be all right.

"M-My Lord, you told me to wait-"

"You bastard!" he yells. "_Crucio! _I sent you an owl, you dolt, don't act as if you haven't received it! _Crucio!_"

My body writhes despite all attempts for it to stop. I convulse, my throat closing so tightly I am struck by the sudden fear I may never breathe again. I shut my eyes as my body flails about, teeth gnashing in my mouth. _Tom, forgive me, it never came, Narcissa must have disposed of it, just make it stop, don't you care for me? _My back arches and I finally cry out, struggling for air, but the walls are caving in and-

The pain ceases abruptly, and I roll onto my back, gasping for breath. I can't move one bit, can't even try to reach for my cane or complete the simple action of turning my neck towards him.

Tom kneels beside me, placing his cold hand on my neck. "Next time, do not be so insolent." he breathes slowly. The strange, metallic scent of blood wafts over me as he kisses my forehead, almost tenderly. "Poor Lucius, you never know." his voice is almost sad, but I know better.

He grabs my waist and lifts me up slowly. I groan, clinging to his robes, trying to move before I slump helplessly against him, head against his chest. He sighs with frustration and puts me in a sitting position in a chair. Tom's hands hold my chin up, his frightening eyes looking keenly into my dull ones.

"You will leave in a half hour, Lucius. Your comrades will be awake by then." He traces a bruise forming on my collarbone with a finger. My comrades are all unconscious, and he does not fear this wicked intimacy. _I hate these games, they exhaust me_, I long to say as his finger moves up to my mouth. I wince, but do not turn away. "Say hello to Lockwood for me, won't you, my dear?" My head lolls in a strange nod, an exhausted acceptance.

He stands back up and carelessly stuffs his wand in his pocket, pulling a hood over his face. "Think of me tonight, Lucius, and know that when we see each other again we shall both be triumphant."

I swallow and nod once more. I long to say something- to spit out an insult, to curse him, but I can't. The words are lost in my throat as he leaves once more through the fire, leaving a brooding lover and a haphazard group of stunned Death Eaters behind.

___

Dolohov's eyes glow with excitement as we circle the tiny house. Beside him, Alecto exchanges a glance with Amycus, both twirling their wands between their stubby fingers like batons. "On my word," I say carefully, "and not before. Goyle, through the chimney. Alecto, I want you at the back door, Amycus at the front door."

I turn to Dolohov, Mulciber and Avery. "Take the others with the plan we discussed with the Dark Lord, understand?" they all nod, and I take a deep breath. My heart is pounding in my chest as I take a step forward. "And so we begin." I give a low laugh.

The four of us wait Apparate inside as Goyle and the Carrows take their routed entrances. As the Dark Lord and I had believed, a small cluster of individuals- about three women and eight men, including Artemus- are inside, gathered around a round table.

Our spells are silent, spoken in our minds, quick enough to disarm and body bind. I can't stop the smile from rising on my face- it's too easy, how insolent and uncaring they have been tonight, the one night they leave their guard down...

"So trusting." I murmur, utterly bemused by the image in front of me. I survey the petrified-forgive me, I can't help it!-faces. It's too easy. I glance at Dolohov swiftly. "Search the upstairs, now." I whisper. "Bring anything you find questionable to me, and _me only_."

I turn back to the little group. Amycus is hopping from foot to foot with childish excitement at this capture. I shake my head and sigh- there must be more to this. Artemus is no fool.

Speaking of which-

"Artemas! How lovely to see you." I can't help but give the stocky man a wicked grin, tapping my cane against my shoe. "Tell me, how is the Order these days?"

He glowers at me, his ruddy cheeks glowing red with anger despite his inability to move. I circle him, intimidating him with mere height. "You place to much trust in friends, you know that? I was hoping you would have learned by now, my dear Artemas, after past events..but I'm wrong!" I cock my head to the side, the mask inches from his face. "Can you explain that to the Dark Lord, perhaps?"

I release him from the bind- a mistake I don't realize until I'm flying through the air, colliding with a rack of pots and pans. "You fool!" I scream, fumbling to stand straight again. "_Stupefy!_"

The spell misses my intended target and instead hits a thin blonde woman, sending her crashing against one of the windows. It shatters, sending a hailstorm of glass upon the Carrows.

Artemas roars with laughter, great booming laughter that nearly shakes the walls. "_Expulso_! You're still a child, Malfoy, you know that, don't you?" His followers have been released by his hand- I bare my teeth with frustration as the pots next to me explode, rattling my hearing. "Children do not play with grown-ups, nor do they talk of things they do not understand!"

"_Incendio_!" I bawl, feeling a disgusting flicker of happiness in me when the flames consume a woman and man as they try to retrieve whatever was laying on the table. Artemas' eyes grow with revulsion and fury.

"_Locomoter mortis_!"

To keep myself from collapsing, I grab the handle of the ancient oven, cackling with mad laughter. "Such a childish spell, Artemas! Who is the infant now?" Dolohov rushes down the stairs, swearing and tripping over his feet.

"The counter spell, you prick!" I shout as Artemas turns his attention to his sudden appearance. Flustered, stuffing something in his robes, Dolohov mutters it under his breath before his horse-like face is covered in unsightly boils.

_Obscuro! _Artemas is blindfolded, stumbling about like an overgrown teenager, and I bark another laugh before rushing to the table, consumed in fire. A woman, perhaps Bellatrix's age, sees me and opens her mouth- I am sure that whatever she has planned is meant for me before I realize that the table has exploded, the flames licking at my heels.

I cry out in pain and alarm, my teeth cutting into my lip. "Insolent girl!" I mutter, facing her. "_Sectumsempra_!"

Frantically, I search the ground for whatever was lying on the table moments ago- it was paper, I can't let it burn, he'll hate me forever. _Tom, I'm sorry, I-_

"Malfoy!" Mulciber shouts, standing near the blasted out window. He twiddles the paper in his fingers before returning to the man he was dueling. I let out a breath of relief before glancing over my shoulder. Artemas is standing over Dolohov's unmoving body, and I'm once more struck with panic.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

The curse is barely out of my mouth before I hear a man howl, but it is not Artemas. A body collides with my shoulder and I'm on the ground, the man on top of me beating me with his bare fists.

"You bastard!" his fist slams into my jaw and I cry out, kicking him off of me furiously, sliding along the floor in my own blood. _"Stupefy, stupefy!"_

______

"Shit, Malfoy, come on.."

"Dark Lord ain't gonna be pleased, Mulciber."

"No fucking shit, Amycus, I don't need you to explain that to me. Come _on_, Malfoy!"

Their voices come back to me like a rush. I shoot straight up, colliding with Mulciber. He curses again and rubs his forehead; I feel dazed, the feeling in my arm gone.

"Are we still in-"

"Yes. We gotta leave, Malfoy, Dolohov and Goyle and Alecto already cleaned up any signs and Apparated back to headquarters." Reluctantly, he holds out an arm. "You ain't strong enough, come with me.."

I have a last glance at the destruction around us- a near-out fire, smoldering bodies littered on the floor. My blood, as well as the blood of others, is scattered about the floor. Stuffed in a corner is Artemas, his eyes staring into a void I wish never to see.

"The blood- it looked like, like puddles, Mulciber.." I stammer when we return. He glances at me, bewildered.

"Now he's talkin' nonsense, what did that filthy simpleton curse him with?"

"Hell if I know, lay him down."

I push away from Mulciber, waving a hand in front of my eyes. There are deep cuts all over my face, probably from my mask and the assault by the unknown man. "I'm all right, I'm fine..." I glance at Dolohov, steadying myself with my cane. "What did you find? How will the Dark Lord find it? Satisfactory?"

Mulciber clears his throat, the Carrows sharing uneasily looks with Goyle. I lick my lip, the metallic taste returning.

"Malfoy, sir.." Dolohov takes a deep breath. "It seems the Dark Lord has fallen."

No.

Impossible.

No.

My Tom...

I can't stand in here, not with these men. I stumble out of the room, Dolohov calling out after me. I'm still bleeding, and Narcissa will question, but fuck her, it doesn't matter, none of them matter.

I collapse in our room- our room, not the one I share with that broad, not my father's, but ours. I lock the door and curl up on the floor. I cannot bear to climb into the bed we once shared, not without him beside me.

Tom has fallen.

"Have I done this to you, Tom?" I murmur. "Was I not enough? Haunt me, please, I cannot bear life without you, if I cannot go with you, haunt me....." I stifle a sob when I remember the little black journal he entrusted me with. I wipe my face and sit up, dragging myself to the bureau.

There it is, hidden under the tattered Bronte book. Breathing raggedly, I open through it, flipping through the blank pages. I have no ink, but I will retrieve it tomorrow, I will write letters to him, letters until he comes back to me.


	7. Mercy

No lyrics, characters, or WH references are mine.

__

_Deserted in your heart_

_Still longing for what yesterday's lost_

_And for all that tomorrow might bring_

_The passion lost - taken, stolen_

__

"Was I always your favorite, Tom?"

I can't help but be jealous. I would never say (or rather, write) this to the once-living Tom, the Dark Lord. Yet with this journalistic Tom Riddle, he doesn't antagonize me, doesn't judge me. I receive answers.

_Favorite? I should say so. Especially when your so-called friends attempt to use Dark Magic to impress a group of pretentious Ravenclaw first-year girls._

I snort and rest my head against the back of the bed. "You're comparing me to Macnair and Nott? Really, Tom, you're losing your touch."

_Not at all, Lucius. Simply being realistic, given the time I am currently stuck in. Tell me, what is life like without the older Me?_

There's a knocking at my door, a tiny fist tapping at the fine wood. I set the journal aside quickly and stride over to the door. It's Draco, as I expected.

He'll be six soon. Six years since his birth, nearly as long as it's been since I last saw Tom. He'll leave for Hogwarts in five years, sorted into Slytherin, most likely..he'll grow up with friends, popularity, good looks, likely without the knowledge his father was a Death Eater.

He already understands the belief of Wizarding superiority, of course, but he doesn't understand the strange mark burned on my arm and why it doesn't come off with any magic, or why Mum and Da never talk to each other and when they do all they do is yell and throw curses and keep Draco awake at night.

"There's a man here, da. Why's he here? You're not going anywhere are you? Not like Mum? You're staying here." He says firmly. I smile and glance at the man standing behind him.

"Ah, Fudge, what a pleasant surprise!" The Minister nods at me before I turn back to my son. "I won't be going anywhere. To this he merely shrugs and runs off, presumably back to his playroom.

"They certainly grow quickly." Fudge sighs, as way of conversation. I nod- _you have no idea how much we all grow up, Fudge, no idea. _He clears his throat as we make our way to the drawing room. "Speaking of which, how is your father these days?"

I stiffen. It's a question often asked that I loathe answering. Thank you for your concern, but I do not give a damn about Abraxas nor is health. "Quite well."

"Good, good." he clears his throat again. "Understand, Lucius, I am here on family issues and not on business."

I cock an eyebrow curiously. "Do explain. Will you take any tea?" I gesture to a seat across from me, and he sits down uncomfortably, leaning forward as if the back of the seat will reach out and bite him in the back.

"Oh, well, why not? With milk, if it is of no trouble..anywho, why I am here. It is regarding your sister."

I feel the breath leave me. Adora. I shake my head. "With all do respect, there's no way you _possibly_ could have information on her, the last time I heard from her she was in Turkey, Fudge, how did you manage-"

Fudge winces and shakes his hand. "Allow me to explain. She was somewhere in Wizarding France..not Paris, a smaller town, don't ask me the name, I don't even have an inkling. There was an accident involving one Madame Gravois."

_Gravois._ I know that name, all followers of the Dark Lord do, though I don't dare reveal that to my superior. Not a Death Eater, per say- but she was a strong follower of the Dark Lord, a sort of leader for French Purebloods.

"She- your sister, that is- was leading some sort of protest, presumably aimed at a new regional law preventing Half-bloods and Muggle-borns from receiving _Ministère_ protection against attacks by trolls and the like, meaning they must essentially fend for themselves..which you know is gaining momentum across France," he adds as a quick afterthought- but of course I know, anyone who keeps with the international news should know that. I'm amazed still we have no such law here.

I can guess what happened next, and there is a sinking feeling in my stomach as Fudge confirms those fears. "There was a confrontation between the two, bystanders say there was a duel, very swift and did not last long..I'm sorry, Lucius, I know that before your father banished her you two were very close."

My hand trembles. One of my own killed my sister. I have the disgusting feeling that I have betrayed her, that my beliefs were my older sister's death sentence. "Of course," I force out in a constricted voice. "Will there be..legal action?"

"She's being sent to Azkaban in a matter of weeks. I felt you should know, before the press got a hold of it."

I grimace. I've spent two years building back my reputation after the fall of the Dark Lord, and now this. "Of course. I'll require assistance in the field of handling the_ Prophet_, of course.." I trail off. Adora.

_Don't listen to Abraxas. You're a great little brother, even if you are a pain. You'll be great when you grow up, you know that? Good luck at Hogwarts, promise you'll write me or I'll send you Howlers every week!_

_What does he say to you? Does he call you worthless? He wants you to drop Ancient Runes, he thinks it's a class for weak students, you're not weak. Stay at it, spite him for once!_

_Come on, Luce, I won't tell him, it will be fun! Just one game of soccer, I'll teach you. He won't notice, I made the House Elves promise to keep quiet._

_You're a good boy, Lucius, but I fear for you._

I shudder and glance back at Fudge. He looks concerned, but nods. "Of course, Lucius. You've been of great worth to the Ministry, I can't deny you that."

"Indeed." I say faintly. "Thank you, Fudge." He departs without having touched his tea.

___

I stare at the black journal silently. I long to open it, to divulge in Tom what I have learned, to be pitied. Draco is eating silently, little legs swinging as he stares back at the abundance of portraits in the room.

"Brutus!" he points at one. The old man wrinkles his nose at Draco, probably more out of offense, while my son gives a childish laugh. "That's Ardelis and Silas." he nods at an image of a tall brunette standing next to my great-great-great uncle. "Aaand.." he cocks his head to the side comically before continuing. "Tiberius and his Fifty Hounds!" he exclaims, drawing a barking laugh from the portrait.

I smile for my son's sake, to satisfy him. _What would you say to me, Tom? Would you comfort me? Or sneer at me for feeling for my Muggle-sympathizing sister?_

I jump with surprise when Draco rests his head against my shoulder. "When will Mummy be home?"

Not until late, when you are asleep, she'll sneak in after spending time with some foreign Wizard far better than I. "I'm not sure, Draco. Later, perhaps. She's visiting family." He accepts this easily, readily. I wonder how he would feel if he knew about my sister, the truth about his mother, about my past.

_I miss you, Tom. You torment me when I close my eyes. I may as well be dying._


	8. Dirty Little Secret

I own no lyrics, characters, or references/allusions/themes to WH

___

_I've been up all night drinking _

_To drown my sorrow down _

_Nothing seems to help me since you went away_

_ I'm so tired of this town_

_____

I've kept it hidden away, in part because I do not want to arouse Narcissa's suspicion, what I do when I lock myself up with my thousands of books and bottle of aged goblin wine. Some of it is because I don't want to be questioned by Draco. Mostly because I find I am losing part of myself.

I fear I've poured too much of myself to this younger Tom. It's frightening how much he has come to know, or at least pretend to understand. More and more when I opened the journal, I found myself at a loss for words.

_Your sister was nothing but a waif, Lucius. Why haven't you forgotten her? It was so easy for you to forget the other one._

"You neglect the fact that I never knew my other sister, Tom."

_Exactly, you don't even think of her. Do the same. Purge your memory of Adora. You did it easily after she left, did you not? Why is it so hard now?_

_You spend too much time with Draco, really. You cannot dote on children too much, or they will become attached to you and won't ever let you out of their sight. How do you expect to be a decent Pure-blooded aristocrat with a child hanging on your robes?_

_You __bought those poisons that I suggested, did you not? They'll come in handy, if you use them well. At least _someone_ listens to me for once, although _you___ have a habit of morphing my words._

_I won't say I miss you, because that will only bring you satisfaction and make you even more smug than you have been of late, and the time I'm stuck in- well, I can hardly dote on you the way my future Self did. Not that I would._

I locked it underneath the Bronte and nearly forgot about it, certainly would have, if it weren't for the fact that I was to accompany Draco to Diagon Alley.

A good excuse to get rid of it- stuff it between some books, no one will notice it. When the time comes, I'll go back and retrieve it. One day, only when it is needed.

It's a bleak day, but just fine for mulling about the streets here. I've practically pulled Draco out of Borgin and Burkes to get to the bookshop (getting rid of those suspicious items is nearly as important as getting rid of this journal- though certainly higher up on my priorities).

"Thank God we're almost done with this, Draco." I sigh. "It seems we have picked the perfect day to gather together your necessities." It seems as if every single young witch or wizard is about with their families, and I'm rubbing shoulders with an endless stream of Mudbloods...

I glance down the street at a pub. "Do you mind?" I ask wearily. "Collect the books you need, and I'll be in to pay them."

Draco shrugs and nods, stuffing his hands deep in his pockets as he saunters away. I watch him go, a strange sadness inside me while I watch him. Adora would have loved him, doted on him.

The pub is dingy and holds the rank scent of farm animals- not normally a place I'd choose, but it's what is closest. I take a seat furthest away from the group of men playing a card game and lean my cane against the wall, a shadow crossing my face.

The bartender, an elderly man with a wooden arm, glances at me. "Just an Opaleye Stout, thank you very much." I request smoothly. He nods, and I turn away.

_Lucius, I cannot answer that question, you know that. Perhaps I chose you because you were alone that day. Or in part because I knew you were a Malfoy, and even a little orphan Half-blood knows of the faithfulness and intelligence of a member of that family. But those are all assumptions. The Current Me can say it is because you are vulnerable, and vulnerable is always what is best._

"Vulnerable?"

_It's rather obvious. You had nothing to live for other than a bleak life ahead of you as an aristocrat, locked up with a wife you cannot stand. You needed me. Or need me, whichever tense works best for your mind. Without me, you'd be nothing, you'd be stuck in that manor of yours for eternity. Try and imagine life without me for a moment. It's impossible, isn't it?_

I had paused. And he was right. I couldn't see a life without us lying near each other, a life where he wasn't leading me as my Master. I could not imagine a life where there was no fury, no passion.

_I'm right, of course, Lucius. You should thank me for that. Or your damned vulnerability._

I sip the warm drink, reminiscing at this truth. Or at least that is what the Journal Tom passed it off as. Is he right? Am I vulnerable? I think quite the contrary- I've heard stubborn, intense, spoiled, arrogant, temperamental, and that I am "a full-on jackass, as those Muggles would say".

But vulnerable. That is a whole new realm that I would not count myself among.

But perhaps..

_Why can't you be good for me, Lucius? Just once. _How many times did I hear that sentence, phrased in so many different variations, from my father, my wife, my sister, Tom? And then how I tried to satisfy them, in one way or another, when it only led to anger, frustration, rage?

Is that vulnerability?

___

Delightful, how fucking delightful. The shop is crammed full of pathetic housewitches clammering after Lockhart. My eyes barely skim the room when I see my son. I shake my head and sigh. Always getting himself into some sort of argument, just like my father..

"Now now, Draco, play nicely." I say icily. I glance up and my heart seems to still in my chest. I shiver, my eyebrows knitting together before grinning wickedly. Just my luck.

"Mister...Potter! Lucius Malfoy." I extend a hand, lip curling. The scar, that cursed scar is there on his forehead, just like they all say. My damned luck that I should see the boy who ruined my Tom. My heart aches in my chest.

"Voldemort killed my parents. He was nothing more than a murderer." His face is full of disgust- and dirt. I hold back an absurd notion to laugh hysterically, at how _serious_ and_ mature_ he tries to act.

Insolent boy, brave boy. It would have been worse if he knew the real name, and I am much more flattered that he dare speak _this_ name than Tom. A Mudblood and the Weasleys, who multiply like rats. What a motley crew!

This little pack of brats are lucky my coworker comes to their rescue. "Weasley Senior! Busy time at the Ministry, all those raids...how I hope they are paying you overtime." In mock pity I glance over their shabby copies, the girl's second-hand cauldron, delicately lifting an eyebrow. "Then again, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they do not even _pay_ you for it?"

I know that Weasley is speaking of much more than my cane, my fine robes when he speaks of being disgraceful. I chuckle. "Hanging around Muggles, Arthur, is not disgraceful? I was under the impression your family couldn't get any lower into the ground-"

I'm barely finished before the Weasley grabs me by the collar and hurls me, with surprising force, into a bookshelf. Seething, I kick him in the lip before he's on me, fist colliding with my eye. I growl and twist away furiously when I feel a pair of strong arms on me, pulling me away. _Get rid of the diary,_ my head screams,_ revenge for his ignorance, Lucius, for the Potter boy running his mouth, for ruining your Tom!_ It's almost like something Tom would instruct me to do.

I throw the Transfiguration book back into the puny girl's cauldron. "Here, girl- take your book, it's the best your father can give you-" I spit, before taking Draco more forcefully than I intended by the shoulder, leading him out of Flourish and Blotts, away from the people eyeing that strange Lucius Malfoy.

___

"You never bought the books, Da."

I shake my head, placing a bit of silverweed over my swollen eye and leaning back delicately on the plush chair. My shoulder is hurting again, but I don't dare say anything. It's a reoccurring pain that I promised never to share, for fear of explanation. "Thank you Dobby, that is all I will be needing for now. Forgive me, Draco. I'll- I'll go back and get them tomorrow, all right? And I'll get that broom as well, for the Slytherin team..."

There's a thick pause. "Why do you always embarrass me?" he says. It's meant to be said quietly, but he knows damn well I am in earshot, that I am not half deaf like Abraxas.

"I _embarrassed_ you? Do explain, child."

He turns to me, arms crossed. "Why do you always have to make such a big scene? You're fake all the time, Da, and a liar. Everyone's going to be clapping Weasley on the back at school, about how great it is that _his_ dad clobbered _mine_. I hate going to Diagon Alley with you. Can't I just go with Mum tomorrow?"

I'm shocked. I turn to look at him more fully, my mouth agape. "I have done nothing to embarrass you, Draco, _nothing! _Why must you make this so difficult?"

He sneers. "It's always me that makes things difficult, Da! Always! Maybe you should take a look at yourself for once!" and with that, he leaves.

Maybe I did. But so what? What did he expect me to do? It was that Weasley, that infernal Weasley.

Tom's voice is in my head again, morphed to Draco's sneer. _Why can't you be good for me?_

_I don't know, _I long to respond. _I don't know, without you. I just don't know._


	9. Trust

As always, I own nothing.

__

_I know you say you love me_

_If what you say is true _

_So show me something that's not deceiving_

_'Cause I wouldn't lie to you_

__

_Lucius. It has been too long._

Has it? I haven't noticed.

_Your sarcasm escapes me, dear. Don't act like you don't miss me._

Of course I do, Tom.

_Very well, then. It is good to have that assurance._

_____

_"What does he talk to you about?"_

_"Father?"_

_"No, you dolt. Lord I-Am-So-Much-Fucking-Better-Than-Yourself!"_

_"Just stuff, Adora. Why do you always meddle in my affairs?"_

_"Meddling, is that what you call it?" she shakes her head, disgusted. "You are getting to be just like Abraxas. I can't even ask a question without you being so defensive."_

_Silence. Lucius pokes at the hearth absent-mindedly._

_"There's a reason he's always meeting with just you, Luce. And I can guarantee you, it's not just because you are a Malfoy. There's a better reason than that. Even I know Lord Voldemort doesn't just show up on doorsteps for a cup of tea and a conversation about literature." She sneers, roughly placing a hand on her brother's wrist. "You'll be a 7th year soon, Lucius, and as such you should be able to make better decisions for yourself, you can't be dealing with such dark magic when you have your future to think of."_

_"You're just like him!" he shrieks, wrenching his hand away. "You're just like father, Adora! Don't even deny it, you try to influence me just like he does!" Adora's lip trembles as they stare at each other. _

_"When did it come to this, Luce?" she asks sadly, but it is purely rhetorical- they both know the answer._

______

_He's much too close for comfort, but Lucius doesn't dare say anything. It isn't his place, not yet._

_The Dark Lord traces Lucius' chin with a nail before tracing it up to his hairline, over his eyebrows, down that straight Malfoy nose. The young man is confused, so delightfully confused at what he wants. Such innocence. His nails dig into the pale skin, drawing blood. Astonishing that such a ruby-red substance could lay beneath that ethereal skin._

_It will be a pleasure to steal Lucius' innocence. A pleasure Tom can only bestow upon himself._

______

_"You don't understand, Severus."_

_The two boys are sitting, quite alone, in the Slytherin common room. It seems almost as if there is only one, but one must look closely- there, in the dark green seat, is a pale, scrawny boy, a scowl marring his sickly features. "What is there for me to understand? You want me to join, that's it, isn't it?"_

_"No! Not at all, Severus. Just listen to me, won't you?" the handsome boy pleads. He pauses, full lips parted for a moment, before he continues. "My father- you see, he's arranging a marriage..it's common among Pureblood aristocrats...it's with-" he swallows nervously here- "-Narcissa Black!"_

_The boy called Severus' eyes widen and he leans forward. "Narcissa Black? Isn't she that fifth year, related to Sirius?" he wrinkles his nose in disdain._

_The other boy nods. "I can't." he whispers. "I hardly _know _her, and my idiot of a father expects me to marry him!"_

_Severus nods, a bit more absentmindedly this time. _

_"And the Dark Lord, that will hardly.." Lucius mutters under his breath and shakes his head, picking at his nails anxiously. They've already been ripped to shreds, bitten and bled, yet he continues the assault on his fair hands. Severus watches his friend carefully before speaking, much more hesitantly this time._

_"You have..._feelings_..towards him." He states it as a fact, not as an opinion or an awkward question from the mouth of a rather awkward boy. Lucius' eyes narrow, suspicious of how his young friend should make such a deduction. _

_He glances about him quickly, despite the fact that they are quite alone, before turning back to Severus. "I'd hardly say feelings are the correct word for such a cruel man."_

_______

Severus is sitting across from me, staring at his tea like it's the most repulsive thing he has ever come face-to-face with. He rubs his hands before glancing back up, absorbing the portraits behind us of long dead, pale-faced ancestors.

"Do you remember," I begin, feeling I'm treading over dangerous waters, "our conversation about Narcissa in the Slytherin common room?"

"Yes, in fact." he brushes a hand lazily over our wolfhound. "You specifically told me you would never marry a woman who spends her time gazing at her own appearance in Charms class and you'd sooner be held in Azkaban."

I can't help but wince at my youthful promise. "That was the conversation, wasn't it?" I mutter.

"Why do you ask?" he requests smoothly. I pause, mull over how to phrase exactly what I mean.

"I know you are not the type to listen to other's problems." I begin. "But...God, Severus, how long has it been?"

_Since the Dark Lord fell._ He knows what I mean, he is not stupid. "Lucius, I was sure you had gotten over all of this. Move on, you have a wife and a son to care for, as well as your public image."

"You've done just fine, you never had any emotional bonds tying you to anyone! Not like this!" I say tearfully as his back stiffens, eyes grow cold. "He was a part of me, Severus."

"Indeed."

"You think I'm lying, that I'm full of shit. I know you too well. You were the only one who knew, Severus, who promised never to declare us public...." I bury my head in my hands.

"Good God, what's happened to you, man?" He shakes me roughly.

"Our souls are the same, like Cathy and Heathcliff's, Severus.." I say, dazed. I lean my head against his shoulder. "'He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same...'"

"You're muttering to yourself again, making no sense, as usual." he scoffs. "The Dark Lord is gone, Lucius. Gone. You have lived quite fine up until this point, don't fall apart on us all."

_Do not break your facade. _

______

_"The _Prophet_ is making accusations again." says the man angrily, punctuated by the loud thud of the paper on the fine oak table. "Going to my father for comments, my father! You think they would have learned by now, the bloody bastards."_

_Tom glances at the newspaper, bemused. "Fight back, then."_

_The younger man shakes his head. "It's no use, I shan't be the one to aggravate the situation."_

_"I suppose not." Tom sighs, then roughly grabs the blonde's arm. "Roll up your sleeve, Lucius."_

_Lucius obeys, then turns away, waiting for the elder to touch his wand to the Mark. It never comes. He looks back and sees Tom simply staring at it, a strange glaze over his eyes._

_"Curious, isn't it?" he murmurs. Lucius can't be sure of what he means- the Mark itself? Or something deeper? "That one may hold so much power, so much influence, yet yearn for more." Slowly, his eyes avert to Lucius' impassive face. "Wouldn't you agree?"_

_Lucius always agrees, for there is no room for argumentation._


End file.
